


Two of a Kind

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Body Image, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2011-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all side effects are physical</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two of a Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://mrsronweasley.livejournal.com/profile)[**mrsronweasley**](http://mrsronweasley.livejournal.com/) for taking me off of ledges and to both her and [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[**inlovewithnight**](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/) for beta and general notes. They are awesome ladies. All remaining errors, mistakes, bad writing and obvious craziness is my own.
> 
> Written for the [yobrothatssick](http://yobrothatssick.livejournal.com/profile) challenge, prompt #28: Frank had stomach issues and gained weight from it/the meds a few years back... tell me all about someone else appreciating his body then! (any pairing)

Frank takes his pills, staring at himself in the mirror as he swallows them down. He doesn’t have a shirt on, doesn’t have anything on, because he wants to see himself like this. Frank doesn’t really give a shit about appearances, because people are who they are, whether they look like supermodels or freak shows or somewhere in between.

It’s just that right now, his body doesn’t look like _him_. He doesn’t look like whoever he’s always thought he is, even though nothing on the inside has changed. He looks strangely swollen, puffy. He told Mikey he feels like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man and they’d spent a half hour on the phone quoting movies at each other. Nothing’s changed anywhere, except the guy looking back at him in the mirror.

He sticks his tongue out and touches his face, pushing dents in his cheeks, watching the skin blanch before it returns to its normal color. The tattoos were his biggest concern, but a few calls calmed him down. As it is, everything looks slightly distorted, but not completely fucked. He pokes his gut, watching the whole mass sway in reaction, then lifts his stomach and looks at his fleshed-out thighs, his dick.

“Yeah, you had to stay the same size.”

“You’re talking to your dick again.” Jamia calls from the bedroom.

“My dick has betrayed me.” Frank pokes a thigh, making it jiggle. “It’s probably going to get worse this weekend.”

“How? Are you going to start singing to it? Serenading your dick?” She shifts down to the end of the bed, and he can see the edge of her reflection in the mirror. “Ooh. Maybe interpretive dance?”

“You are such an asshole. You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I have figured out your secret code.” He can see her smile, but he still rolls his eyes.

“But I don’t give a shit about that shit,” he says. “And look at Gee, man. He was heavier. Fans didn’t give a fuck. Hell, some of them liked him _better_ that way. Chubby. Puffed up. It’s no big deal.”

“Except how it is.”

“It isn’t.” He keeps looking at himself in the mirror, making faces, trying to focus on just his face, even though it’s as bad as the rest of him.

“Frank.”

“It _isn’t_.” He sounds kind of petulant, but he’s been dealing with this in his head for a while, and he’s made his decision. “I don’t care what people look like. I don’t give a shit if people are fat or skinny or have seventeen legs or fifty-two eyeballs or are hermaphrodites or anything.”

“Right. Right. You’re totally open-minded and accepting.” She sits up, cross-legged on the bed and naked, too. She hasn’t changed at all, even though Frank has. “But there’s a difference in not giving a shit about how other people look and not giving a shit about how _you_ look.”

“It doesn’t _matter_.”

She exhales and rubs her hands over her face, taking a minute before looking at Frank again. “I’m going to disillusion you a lot, okay? It’s going to suck, but I’m going to do it. I’m biting this bullet for you.”

“You’re being an ass.”

“It does matter.” She shrugs and holds up her hand to stop Frank from saying anything. “And, yeah, it sucks, but it _does_ matter. People look at you or me or whoever and they see what’s on the outside. Doesn’t matter if someone’s a fucking rocket scientist or the nicest guy on earth. They see what they see and most of the time people don’t give enough of a fuck to get past that. And we live in a world where people who aren’t whatever the arbitrary standard is are considered freaks, and people pretend they don’t see them except to hold them up as examples of disgust, what not to do, or fucking… ‘before’ pictures.”

“Wow, is this some sort of pep talk? Because you fucking suck at pep talks.”

“So all those people who look at you like you’re god’s gift to guitarists-”

“No, that’s Ray.”

Jamia blows out a long breath, and Frank is pretty sure he can _see_ the end of her patience. “They expect you to look like you usually look, and right now you look different. So, yeah, they’re going to maybe say shit.”

“I know. That’s what I said.”

“And it’s going to bother you.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yeah, it is, Frank. Because it _does_. Trust me, okay?” He looks at her, and _sees_ her, and he knows what’s coming. It’s not something they talk about, because she doesn’t want to, but he knows it exists. He knows because it pisses him off. “Because it hurts when people give you shit because you’re heavy. It sucks when people wonder why someone’s with you when you look like you look.”

“Jamia.”

“Shut up, okay? Shut up and listen. Because even if you work your hardest to make sure that you don’t judge people that way, that doesn’t stop other people from judging _you_. And whether you want to or not, you give a shit about what other people think of you. Maybe not everybody. But the fans. The kids that think you guys are saving the world and shit. You care what they think.”

“What they think should be that it doesn’t matter. Fuck, if they’re our fans, they should know better than to give a fuck about outside appearances.”

“Jesus Christ, Frank. Since when does what people _should_ do have anything to do with what they _do_ do? I’m just saying that people are gonna give you shit. It’s going to happen. And it’s going to hurt. So just be prepared. Brace yourself.”

“I’m so glad I have you to make me feel better.” Frank slumps against the jamb of the bathroom door and makes a face at her. “I mean, I really don’t know if I should just kill myself now and get it over with, or if you’re going to try to make me feel better some more by torturing me with paper cuts until I bleed out.”

“God, you’re in-fucking-sufferable. Come here.”

“And give you better access?” He pushes off the door and steadies himself, his balance thrown off by the drugs and the changed proportions of his body. “You’re going to use fashion magazines to cut me with, aren’t you? Really drive your point home.”

Jamia grabs Frank’s wrist and tugs him closer until his knees are pressed to the mattress. She’s sitting, but the mattress makes them practically the same height. “The point of my argument, in case you missed it, is that people are assholes and can just go fuck themselves.”

“You never said that part.”

“It was implied.”

“It was? When? When you were talking about how I am no longer the American ideal for a sexpot and everyone is going to hate me forever?”

“Somewhere in there.” She rubs a thumb over Frank’s wrist. “You know it doesn’t matter, right?”

“You just spent, like, fifteen minutes telling me it _does_ matter.” His eyes close as she presses her mouth against Frank’s wrists, sucking lightly at the broken heart. “And now you’re saying it doesn’t?”

“Yep.”

“You realize that’s a contradiction, right?”

“To me.”

Frank opens his eyes, looking at her. “Yeah?”

“Yes, stupid.”

“I mean, I know. I know that. It doesn’t change how you feel about me.” He shrugs, careful not to slip out of her grip. “I know that.”

“Not just that, dipshit.” She smiles and kisses further up his arm, nipping at the skin. “I mean, I still love you like crazy, but it doesn’t change the other stuff either.”

“Other stuff?” He’s deliberately playing dumb, but maybe she’s right about it mattering, because he needs it, needs to hear it. Which she knows, because she’s a hell of a lot smarter than he is. “Like what?”

She shifts, getting up on her knees and kneeling on the mattress in front of him. “It doesn’t change how much I want to kiss you.”

“I’m a fan of kissing.” He barely gets the words out before her mouth is on his, her tongue snaking between his lips. She kisses him hard, possessive, and Frank groans, kissing her back. He loves the way she puts everything into it, like nothing is more important than tasting the back of his throat. “Fuck, J.”

“Yeah, that too.” She tugs him up on the bed and he crawls over her, feeling the shift in his weight. It takes him out of it for a second, like it’s done the few times they’ve done this since he started the Prednisone. She shakes her head and kisses him again, pulling him on top of her and wrapping her legs around him. “Don’t.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” She bites his lower lip and sucks on it for a moment. He feels his dick respond, stirring at the feel of her, pressing against the underside of his stomach. “You’re gorgeous, Frank.”

“I’m…”

“ _Gorgeous_.” Her tone doesn’t brook any argument, and he looks at her for a long time. Her eyes are serious, intent on his. “Fat. Thin. Bald. With Ray-hair. With or without limbs. With or without _tattoos_. You’re the most gorgeous man in the world.”

“I’m different. Puffy.”

“You’re _you_ ” He’s surprised by the vehemence in her voice, by the sharp flash of tears in her eyes. But maybe not surprised, because he’d be saying the same thing if the situation were reversed. “And anyone who only sees the outside can fuck themselves.”

“Because you’ll be fucking me?”

She laughs, sniffing back her tears. “Yeah. And I’d better be the _only_ one fucking you, even if they do see it. Got it, Mister?” She pokes his chest and he feels the flesh move, his newly developed man-boobs shifting. She raises an eyebrow and moves both of her hands, cupping them and running her thumbs over his nipples.

“Stop it.” He’s not blushing. He’s not embarrassed. It’s just different. Strange. Kind of hot.

“Oh, you can play with mine all day and night, but I can’t?” She ducks her head and flicks a tongue across his nipple. Frank groans, thrusting down against her, but he’s thinking too much still, and it feels _off_.

“Fuck. _Fuck_.” He pulls away and sits at the end of the bed. “There’s too _much_ of me.”

“Never too much of you, Frank.” She moves down to him, not touching him, but close enough that he can feel the heat of her. “Babe, I don’t _care_. I love you. I _want_ you.” She kneels in front of him again, and he ducks his head, unwilling to meet her eyes. She shakes her head and catches his chin, pulling his head back up. “I want to touch you. Suck you. Kiss you. Lick you. If it is physically possible to do it to you, I want to do it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That covers a lot of ground, J.”

“Yeah, well, I’m an adventurous girl.” She leans in and kisses him, softly. She takes her time, opening his mouth with slow licks of her tongue, her thumbs stroking the curve of his jaw. He closes his eyes, just feeling her as she scratches her nails along his short beard.

“Fuck, want to eat you out. Scratch up the inside of your thighs.”

“Later.” She pushes him down on the bed and straddles him, her knees digging into his sides. “Right now I have other plans.”

“You do, huh?” He still feels wrong, different, but it’s better like this, where he doesn’t feel so much of the weight pulling him down. “Such as?”

“This,” she whispers as she leans in, licking over the scorpion on his neck and then biting at the tendon. She runs her hands up his arms and curls her fingers around his wrists and then pins them above his head. “For starters.”

“That’s…that’s a…oh, fuck, J…” He closes his eyes as she starts moving over his skin, mouth and tongue and teeth teasing along his jaw and throat and shoulders. “G-good…fuck, babe, good start.” She licks and sucks along his muscles, leaving occasional teeth marks when she closes her mouth over his bicep and bites hard. Pain blocks out any other thought, just an explosion of feeling that lingers even when she moves down to his tricep and works up to his elbow.

She doesn’t talk, just keeps moving over him. He can smell her, the damp heat of arousal, but she’s careful to keep her body off of his, only her mouth and the tips of her breasts teasing over his skin. She kisses the inside of her elbow and then moves back down to his shoulder. He moves underneath her, still trying to find contact and friction. She bites the fleshy curve above his armpit then buries her face in it, her nose teasing the hair and causing him to arch up with a laugh. She inhales deeply and he’s caught half-groan and half-giggle.

She breathes in again then blows it out. Frank writhes, pressing his lips together to keep from laughing. Jamia huffs a laugh of her own, making him squirm again. “Like that, huh?”

“You’re evil.” He thrusts upward, trying for contact. “Pure evil.”

She slides her hands down to his biceps, holding them down. “You say that like it’s news.” She nuzzles at one of his nipples, and it goes hard immediately. They’ve always been sensitive, but now they’re even more so, and Jamia loves to torture him. She licks and sucks and mouths at one of them, letting go of one of his arms to flick her finger across the other nipple. Frank groans and fists his hand in the pillow so he won’t move his arm. “Besides, barely gotten started. Lots of you left to tease and taste.”

Frank squirms beneath her, his hips rising off the bed. The head of his dick slides against the silky rough hair between her thighs. “C’mon.”

“Impatient.” She sits back, straddling his upper thighs. Running her fingers down his chest makes him shiver, and now that she’s not gripping his arms, he can move his hands down to her hips, trying to urge her forward onto him.

“C’mon, J.”

“You are not in charge here.” Her fingers trace the swallows on his abdomen. He closes his eyes and loses himself in the feel of her. She scratches at the trail of hair from his navel to his dick. “You love me, don’t you?”

His eyes snap open and his brow furrows. “That’s not seriously a question is it? I mean, I’m fucking crazy about you.”

“Yeah?”

“What the fuck, Jamia?” He struggles to sit up, frustrated at the effort and the breath it costs him. “Why are you asking me that?”

“You hate the way you look right now.”

He opens his mouth to deny it, but stops at the look on her face. “Yeah.”

“But look at me.”

“What do you mean? You’re gorgeous.” She pokes at his stomach, making it move, then does the same to her own. “No.” He shakes his head vehemently. “No. _Not_ the same thing.”

“Yeah, babe. It is.” She wrinkles her nose and runs a finger down the length of his cock. “Sometimes I’m skinny. Sometimes I’m fat. Sometimes I’m in-between. I fluctuate all the time.”

“But…”

“But nothing, Iero.” She doesn’t let him go on. “Yeah, this weekend they’re going to give you shit, and I wish you didn’t have to go through this, but don’t tell me that you’re not going to feel it, that it’s not going to bother you, because I _know_ it’s not true.”

“Shit, I wasn’t trying to…I didn’t mean to make you feel…”

“Do you know how often I hear that I don’t deserve you? Do you know how many people say I’m too fat for you? You should have someone sexier, prettier, skinnier.”

“Well, that’s bullshit. It doesn’t matter what they say. I want you. I love you. Fuck, I don’t even fantasize about other women. Just you. Always you.”

She smiles and he feels the edge of anger and frustration boiling under his skin ebb slightly. She had tried pulling the whole ‘you’re too good for me’ exactly once at the beginning of their relationship, and she’d gotten about halfway through before she cracked up. From the start, they’d _fit_ , even if they occasionally tried to deny it. “Frankie, you’re a complete dork.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve known that from day one.” He reaches up, thumb stroking across the bottom curve of her breast. “Also, you can feel free to reassure me that you don’t fantasize about other guys at any time.”

“Not at all.” She smiles at him and leans in, kissing him, tongue sliding easily past his lips. “Other women, now…well, that’s a different story.”

“You’re killing me.” He pulls her closer, settling her back on his lap. The hair between her legs catches around his dick, clinging with soft, wet suction. “I love you. All of you. No matter how much or how little there is.”

“I know.” She nods, her eyes serious. “So please believe that I feel the same about you, okay?”

“I do!”

This time she shakes her head. “No.”

“Don’t tell me what I think, J.”

“You want to think it. You hope that I do, but you don’t believe it. Because I wear your love around me like a shield and that deflects every shitty thing people say about me and about us. Fuck them, because _you love me_. And you’re more worried about going to this premiere than you’re admitting, because you know you’re going to hear shit.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t believe you love me.”

“Maybe not.” She traces her fingers along his bare shoulders, down his arms. “But maybe it feels like it a little. Makes me wonder, if you hate what you look like so much, how you can love how I look.”

Her voice catches and Frank shakes his head. “Never. _Never_ fucking doubt how I feel about you. Never. Understood?”

She wraps her arms around his neck, an easy weight on his shoulders. Her hips are warm against his palms, and she fits in his hands perfectly, no matter if he can feel the sharp jut of hipbone or if flesh overflows his grip. “Yeah.”

“But this doesn’t get you out of the whole tasting and touching me all over thing, you know. Emotional bonding and catharsis shit. That doesn’t count as getting me off.”

Jamia laughs, and Frank’s caught by the way her whole body moves. “Don’t worry.” She settles back onto the bed, tugging him with her. “You’ll get off, Iero.” Her smile is wicked, and he’s struck by how fucking _blessed_ he is. “Eventually.”

He grins back as she rolls them over and pins him down again. She licks the bottom edge of her teeth and he has to hold back the groan.

“Maybe. If you’re really lucky.”

He leans in, fighting against her grip, and kisses her. “I am. Trust me. I really fucking am.”

**

Frank knows it’s Ray on the phone because of the way Gerard huddles into it. It’s funny how they’ve all adopted different postures when they talk to each other. When Frank and Mikey talk it’s like an Italian dinner – hands everywhere, gesticulating like it’s going out of style. When he talks to Gerard, Frank smokes, and he can tell by the rough inhale and exhale that Gerard does too. But Ray’s the giant among them, and they all sort of lean in when they talk to him, sheltered from the storm.

Mikey’s on his sidekick, texting faster than Frank can even process thought. He’s sort of given up texting since he started taking the Prednisone, because goddamn if his fingers aren’t fucking fat too. They’re sitting at Gerard’s house after the movie, and they’re all past the point of dissection and into reflection. Ray’s getting a recap, but there’s something else, because Gerard is actually _listening_. Actively listening. It’s almost unnerving.

“Don’t go on the internet.”

“What?”

Mikey shrugs and nods at his phone. “Don’t go on the internet. In a few minutes, assuming Gee finishes up with Ray at some point, he’s going to come over and tell you the same thing. Don’t go on the internet.”

“Is this some weird alien Mikeyway that’s taken over?” Frank shrugs his shoulders up to his ears to try and release some of the tension in his back. Nothing cracks and it doesn’t work so he slumps back on the couch. “Because you’re usually pro-internet unless it involves weird sexual acts with your brother.”

“We’re not supposed to talk about that,” Gee informs him, still on the phone with Ray. “It makes Mikey uncomfortable, remember?”

“But not him,” Frank reminds Mikey, just to watch Mikey flip him off mid-typing. It’s an amazing skill. “Why am I not supposed to go on the internet? Man, did someone kill Superman again?”

“Pictures hit.” Mikey is concise and says more with a few words and an eloquent eyebrow than Gee can say with a soliloquy, a Greek chorus, and subtitles.

“Bad, huh?”

“Not nice. Mostly the shitty blog people. Not fans or anything.”

“Yet.” Mikey shrugs and his eyes dart over to Frank. It’s a quick glance full of sympathy and understanding. Mikey’s burden is everyone assuming he’s there just because he’s Gerard’s brother, that he’s useless and crazy and stupid. Frank blows out a breath. “At least you’re pretty.”

“That’s what I tell myself every morning.”

Frank laughs and glances over at Gerard. “I’m gonna head back to the hotel, okay?”

“He’ll be upset. Worried that you’re going to go home and cry into your beer.”

“First of all.” Frank gets to his feet, using the arm of the couch for leverage and grunting softly at the effort. “I have a nice bottle of single malt scotch waiting for me.”

“Lies.”

“And crying would dilute the natural flavor and potency.”

Mikey smirks without looking up. “Crying makes you impotent.”

“Asshole.”

“Jerkwad.”

Frank kicks Mikey’s shin. “Suck my dick.”

“What dick?” Mikey ducks Frank’s swing and laughs one of his stupid giggles, which makes Frank laugh too.

"Tell Gee I'll call him tomorrow." He grabs his jacket and shrugs it on. It's part of his new wardrobe, stuff in larger sizes shoved into his closet and suitcase like he's going to be this way forever. He shakes his head and gets into the rental car before Gerard can get off the phone and call him back inside. He just needs to clear his head, not think about the shit that's being said. That people are saying. That people are saying about him. People that maybe he likes and respects and they think he's a fat asshole who's let himself go.

He slaps his hands on the steering wheel. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck." He pulls out into traffic and starts driving, leaving the trip to the hotel up to the GPS. He curls his fingers around the cheap leather and fights to stay at the speed limit so he doesn't lose the little bit of control he thinks he still has. He tries to think of Jamia's voice, but it doesn't help. It doesn't help to think of the way she is and how he loves her, because he gets caught in the fucking loop that she deserves better than him. "Fuck."

He should call her. He _promised_ to call her. But right now he needs his hotel room, a hot shower and a bottle of scotch to calm down enough to talk to her, to not want to stab himself with a pen like some over inflated balloon and listen to the air hiss out. He's developed a new set of symptoms, fun side effects of irrational anger and vomiting up something that looks like coffee grounds that he's pretty sure shouldn't be coming from inside him, and all he wants to do is drink until he stops feeling everything.

He stops inside the hotel room, the key card beeping at him from where it's still in the slot. The TV is going, casting a ghostly blue hue over the dark room. "You'd better just be shitty housekeeping, or I'm calling the cops."

"You didn't tell me you wanted to role-play."

He grabs the key and shuts the door, moving to where he can see Jamia lying on the bed. "What the fuck?"

"Surprise."

“What are you doing here?”

"Well, I did some thinking." She's stretched out on the bed wearing one of Frank's Black Flagg t-shirts. He can see the dark hair curling at the hem of it where it hits the top of her thighs. "And I missed you."

"You had to think about it?"

"Yeah. Sometimes you're an asshole. I had to be sure." She gets to her knees and moves down to the end of the bed. She smiles at him and touches him in the center of his chest. "You're lucky it all worked out in your favor."

"I'll thank my lucky stars." He shrugs out of his jacket and lets it fall to the floor. Gerard wanted to dress up for the premiere - _big time Hollywood, Frankie!_ \- so he's wearing a sweater and a tie, because the thought of buying a suit this size had triggered one of his vomiting episodes.

She grabs the hem of his sweater and guides it up over his head. He shrugs so his shirt falls back down from where it's bunched up around his shoulders, and she shakes her head and slides her hands beneath the white cotton, curving her palms over his stomach and sides.

Holding still is harder than he imagines with his head so fucked up right now, letting her touch him, manipulate the flesh. He curses himself in his head, because this is Jamia - this is _them_ \- but the worry and sympathy in Gerard and Mikey's voices keep his brain running in a loop.

"Ow!" He jerks back as Jamia pinches him hard. "What the fuck? I think you broke skin!"

She grabs the collar of his shirt and jerks him in close. "Get the fuck out of your head, forget about the internet and get your ass _here_ with _me_."

He shudders as her knuckles dig into his collarbone, the pressure of the fabric making it hard to swallow. "I'm here. I'm right here."

"Stay here." There's a plea in her voice, even as she grips his shirt tighter. He knows she's frustrated too. "Because, god damn it, I love you, but you're really pissing me the fuck off."

He nods and rests his forehead against hers, matching his breathing to hers before he turns his head, nuzzling her mouth. "Sorry, J. Fuck, 'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just...just..." She exhales roughly and kisses him hard, her tongue pushing past his lips. It's desperate and painful, and Frank groans roughly into her mouth. "I'm not saying don't get better. I'm not saying this is the _best_ you. I'm saying I'm in love with you.” Her voice catches, rough and close to breaking. "And...and you keep h-hiding from me."

"No."

"Yes, Frank. Yes." her eyes are wide, damp with the threat of tears. "So stop running away because you think you're not what I want. Because if you think I'm shallow enough to only love you when you're skinny, I would like to remind you of exactly how fucking ridiculous you looked when I first met you."

He opens his mouth to protest and the words catch on a laugh. "Okay, I did look kind of like a tool."

"Kind of?"

"Hey. Don't be mean." He reaches up and rests his hands on her wrists, rubbing his thumb over her pulse. "I thought I'd be okay."

"Yeah, because sometimes you lie to yourself." She kisses him again, smirking when she pulls back. "And you're an idiot. Which is why I had to fly my ass out here."

"I'm glad you did."

She raises an eyebrow and sinks down onto the bed, pulling him down on top of her. He can feel the heat of her skin through the thin t-shirt as he settles against her, her breasts crushed between them. "Don't think, Frankie." She wriggles beneath him, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders. "Just be here with me."

"That's it? Because I was considering fucking you."

"Is that so?" She spreads her legs, soles of her feet planted on the mattress and her knees on either side of him, thighs against his arms. "Don't let me ruin your grand master plan."

"Can't ruin it." He kisses her, taking his time. He loses himself, doing as he was told and shutting off his brain. He focuses on the feel of her beneath him and the taste of her mouth. “You're kind of a key element."

"Maybe you should debrief me then."

He pulls back enough that she can see his smirk. "You're not wearing any briefs, babe."

Frank kisses her again, taking his time before he nips along her jaw and down her throat. “I should check though. Make sure.”

“M-make sure?

He cups her breasts with both hands, squeezing them, teasing the nipples. He can feel every breath, each exhale pressing her more firmly in his hands. “That you’re not wearing briefs.”

She laughs thickly, the sound turning to a moan as he shifts upward and presses his thigh hard between her legs. “W-we-well?”

“Needs closer investigation.” He turns his head as he moves down, kissing the inside of her knee. She grabs the hem of her shirt, exposing her stomach to him, her hand flat over her navel. The thin silver-pink ghosts of stretch marks catch his peripheral vision for a moment, and he traces one with his finger. She shakes her head, but he ignores her, kissing the mark before lowering his head and breathing on the dark thatch of hair.

Jamia’s head falls back, her throat exposed, arched off the bed. He watches her, just breathing, until she grips his head and pushes him down.

He laughs hotly and licks along the soft flesh of her labia, wet hairs clinging to his tongue. Using his thumbs he opens her up, still licking. She’s wet for him, ready, but he takes his time, tugging lightly at the hairs with his tongue and teeth.

It doesn’t take long before she’s cussing at him, arching up toward his mouth. He presses his hands against her inner thighs and parts her legs farther, the tip of his tongue tracing around her clit. She comes up off the bed, back bowing sharply. “F-fuck. Fuck, Frank. C’mon.”

He ignores her and does it several more times, teasing around it. She wraps a leg around him, digging her heel into the small of his back, trying to thrust up against his tongue. He finally relents, for his own sake as much as hers, flicking his tongue over her clit, listening to the muffled sound of her hitching breath. Her pussy is slick and wet, and he traces her opening, sliding a finger inside her. She clenches around him, muscles constricting against the sensation. He works a second finger in quickly, his tongue still moving over her.

Her voice washes over him like a hot wave as he fingers her, curving them so his short nails tease against the slick walls. He catches her clit between his teeth, and sucks on it until she fists her hands in his hair and jerks him away from her.

“Fuck. Me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He moves up, undoing his slacks as he goes, shoving them down his thighs with one hand while he braces himself with the other. He gives up at mid-thigh, curving his hand around his cock instead, guiding it against her. She’s even hotter around the sensitive skin of the head, tight and wet and perfect. “Fuck, J. Fuck, yes.”

Her other leg wraps around his thighs, holding him against her as he thrusts inside. Her arms wrap around his neck and she kisses him, licking the taste of her off of his face, from his mouth. Frank fists both hands in the bed sheets, supporting them both as she holds onto him. He gets lost in the taste and feel of her, the way she moves in perfect rhythm with him. Sex with her is like being on stage with Ray, everything working the way it should without even trying. She’s like a perfectly tuned guitar. Like everything he loves.

“Shit, J. Love you. Love you so much. So fucking perfect, baby.”

“You.” She kisses him, biting his lower lip and sucking on it. Her breath is ragged and shallow and he _feels_ her everywhere, like there’s nothing between them. “Us. We’re perfect.”

He nods and buries his face against her neck, lowering himself to his elbows before sliding one hand beneath her, pulling her closer. “Love you. Love you, J. So fucking much.”

She shudders beneath him and comes, slick wetness coating his cock and pushing him over the edge, thrusting had and burying himself inside her. They lay like that for a long moment then he eases out of her, rolling off and collapsing on the bed beside her. Maybe the bed shakes a little more than it used to. It just makes all of his favorite parts of Jamia move in ways he very much enjoys. “I approve of you flying out to put my head on straight.”

“That’s not the only reason.” She stretches and groans and then relaxes back against him. “I talked to your doctor today.”

“Oh?” Frank burrows closer, breathing heat and sweat from her neck.

“Yeah. They have a new drug they want you to try. Going to take you off the Prednisone. Apparently they think that whole vomiting your guts out is a bad sign.”

“The miracles of modern science.” He shifts back and looks down at her, one hand pushing her hair out of her face, catching all the sweaty strands that cling to her forehead. “So I should lose all this weight?”

“That’s what the man said.” She smiles at him, and Frank watches her closely, knowing that it bothers her that he asked, knowing she knows that maybe the message didn’t sink in all the way. “Pretty soon you’ll be a supermodel again.”

“Will you still love me?”

“I suppose.” She sighs dramatically and pokes his side. “Though I’m kind of fond of the love handles.”

“Right. Gotta keep something for you to hold on to.”

She laughs and tugs him down for a kiss. “Well, you get so freaked out whenever I grab your dick for leverage.”

“It’s delicate and sensitive.”

“Well, then maybe I shouldn’t ride it so damn much.”

“Now, now. Let’s not be hasty.” The smile’s in her eyes and Frank knows that this is it, this is right. Them against the world, but never against each other. Not in the ways that matter. He kisses her again, long and lingering, his body settled perfectly against hers. The whole greater than the sum of its parts. “I don’t think it’s _that_ sensitive.”

“Ha.” She wraps her arms around him and pulls him close, snuggling tight. “That’s what I thought.”  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Two of a Kind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2816102) by [Andeincascade (Ande)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ande/pseuds/Andeincascade)




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